The Second Interregnum
by BlarkBlark124
Summary: After demons begin pouring out of a strange portal on New Vroengard, Eragon calls the two Riders who helped him defeat Galbatorix to help him deal with it. Meanwhile, in Skyrim, Alduin has returned, and with him the Dragonborn, the civil war continues to rage on, and an old threat from the Second Era has returned.
1. Chapter 1

Fifty years. Fifty years since the elven queen's life was changed forever, for the positive and negative. Fifty years since she killed a tyrant with godlike power alongside a man who had somehow come to mean everything to her within a few short years. Fifty years since her dragon had hatched for her. Fifty years since that man she fought so hard alongside had left, supposedly never to return. Fifty years since she had become queen. She longed to get out of Ellesméra once again, to fight, to travel, to do _something_ aside from the endless amount of dealing with the court, followed by sword practice, followed by a small flight around the city on Firnen, if she was lucky, and then sleep.

A voice came from her mirror, shocking her and causing her to yelp in surprise. The face of Eragon looked at her, desperation in his eyes.

"Greetings, Arya, it's been too long. I cannot talk for long, but know that I need your help."

She breathed in deeply, fearing the worst.

* * *

The man walked over to a memorial he had built, sinking to his knees and praying to the gods. The queen of Broddring Kingdom had been assassinated twenty-five years before. He had loved her then, for she was the one that allowed him to change his true name and break the bonds of Galbatorix. However, she was mortal, and thus doomed to die, while he would endure ever onwards for millennia if no man or beast cut him down. About ten years after Galbatorix had been killed, and he left Alagaësia, he had returned and took residency in Ellesméra.

A knock came at his door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Arya. Eragon's in trouble, apparently enough that he felt it was necessary to send a message by mirror calling me for help."

"You'd better come in then, and tell me everything he said. Even if we've nearly killed each other before, those days are over. I'll not allow my half-brother to die at the hands of something powerful enough that he thought it prudent to ask for your help."

* * *

" _Damn it, damn it, damn it. What the hell am I going to do, these damned demons have been hitting us hard, we maybe have a week before we'll have to retreat."_ thought the Lord Rider as he paced around his study. Adding to his foul mood was the fact that when the portal to whatever hellish dimension the demons were pouring out of had opened, the Name of Names had totally stopped working. It had apparently been powerful enough to change the very nature of magic itself.

They had already lost four Riders during the initial attack, and now they were trying to wait out the siege that the damned things had laid on New Vroengard.

" _Might I suggest calling Arya and Murtagh? I know that you'd hate putting them in danger, however they seem to be our only option to quell this. None of these Riders are more than novices at their craft."_ came the voice of his dragon.

" _Aye, I'll do that now. Draumr kòpa."_

He scryed Arya, sitting on her bed, deep in thought.

"Greetings, Arya, it's been too long. I cannot talk for long, but know that I need your help. A portal to some hellish dimension has opened outside the gates of New Vroengard and demons are pouring out, besieging the city. We have already lost four Riders. The Name of Names no longer works, and we have perhaps a week before we will be forced to retreat. Take this message to Murtagh, I know he resides in Ellesméra. Goodbye."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Sorry for the late update, I'm going to try to keep myself to one every two weeks from now on. This chapter takes place in Skyrim, about a month after the dragon at the Western Watchtower. That said, enjoy.**

The Dragonborn woke with a pounding headache.

"By Talos, what in Oblivion happened last ni-" he paused as he saw the naked form of Aela the Huntress curled up next to him. A sudden stinging pain erupted across his back. Craning his neck to look, he spotted four long, red marks stretched across his back.

"Okay, seriously. What the bloody hell happened last night?" he wondered aloud as he sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

He hopped off the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping huntress, and slipped on his tunic and breeches.

Walking up to the mess hall, he was greeted by a cacophony of laughter.

"Right, Farkas, what the bloody hell happened last night? I presumably slept with Aela, but I don't remember doing it, and I'm not sure where these damn marks on my back came from."

"Damn." said the Companion. "You were evidently really, really drunk, but you and Aela woke the whole damn building up."

"Aye. Last I remember I was on my sixteenth round and Aela was grinning at me."

"THE GREAT HROLF BJORNSSON, SLAYER OF DRAGONS, LOST HIS MEMORY AFTER SIXTEEN DRINKS, HAH!" shouted one of the other Companions on the other side of the room.

A man sprinted into the building, causing the door to loudly hit the wall behind him.

"What could possibly be so important that you're sprinting into Jorrvaskr this early in the morning?" demanded Vilkas.

"Dragon….attacked...Riverwood….coming...towards….Whiterun" the man panted before collapsing into a heap.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's the second one this month." muttered Hrolf. Less than a month prior, he had slain a dragon and become Thane of Whiterun.

"Right, I'm gonna hop down to my house and grab my armor and axe, I've got a dragon to kill."

He ran down the steps, past the man that spent twelve hours a day preaching for Talos. Hrolf worshipped Talos, privately of course as not to incur the ire of the Thalmor, for the White-Gold Concordat allowed them to take prisoners without limits. He had heard tales of what they did to prisoners, and a short shiver ran through his body at the thought as he got to the door of Breezehome.

"Hello, my Thane" spoke a familiar voice.

"Hello Lydia. Apparently a dragon is attacking Riverwood, though last I heard it may be heading in the direction of Whiterun."

He walked up the stairs to his room, strapping on his armor of steel and fur and grabbing the massive axe that hung on a rack beside his bed.

Walking out of the city, he got on his horse and tossed the stablemaster a small bag of gold.

Digging the spurs into the horse's torso, he made haste to Riverwood, which was only about half an hour's ride away. Halfway there, he saw it. A great scaled beast that could potentially cover several buildings were it to fall, flying low above the town. His hand tightened around the axe, as he prepared to fight the dragon. It began to fall as it was being peppered with arrows, and finally, it decided that sitting on the ground and crawling to attack the ground targets was the best option. He nearly flew off his horse, taking the huge two handed axe with him, and sprinted over to the dragon.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" screamed the dragon.

Hrolf dropped to the ground as quickly as possible until the gout of fire ended, and continued his sprint. As he got to the dragon, he aimed a massive overhand swing at the base of its wing, causing it to spray blood. Again and again he hacked desperately, dodging dragonfire and tail swings constantly. Finally, the mangled, battered wing, arrows perforating the leathery webbing between the long bony fingers and bits of bone sticking out fell off.

*CRUNCH*

Hrolf saw the swinging tail far too late, and he was swept aside like a flea. His chestplate was caved in, and would quickly kill him by inhibiting his breathing if he didn't remove it, and quickly.

Thinking dully through the haze of red, he somehow fumbled the straps open.

" _Damn, that was nasty."_ was his first thought.

He scrambled for his belt with various health potions in it, hoping beyond hope that none of the bottles were broken. His fingers closed around one tiny, precious red bottle, and his fingers shook as he uncorked it and drank the foul concoction.

" _Well at least the damned bleeding's stopped, not sure what the hell I'm gonna do about these ribs though."_ he thought before he picked up his axe, and despite every bone in his body screaming at him to stop, sprinted at the dragon, bare chested, with barely any regard for his own safety, almost in a sort of berserker rage. He got to its neck, started hacking, and didn't stop until the dragon fell to the ground twitching, and the last of his strength left him. As he lay on the ground with shattered ribs and shaking hands, he saw the glow of the dragon's scales burning off, giving him its soul, and he grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm bad at writing traveling, so this chapter takes place 4 days after Ch 1 and 2.**

 **Apologies for being late, exams/the start of the new semester have been a bitch.**

"And so, I have decided to hand the responsibility of leading and training the Riders to Ismira Katrinasdaughter, our most experienced Rider, having been trained for the past forty-three years."

The Lord Rider finished his speech in which he named his niece his successor, as there was a high chance he wouldn't return from what he was going to do shortly in the future. The demons had been sieging New Vroengard relentlessly, to the point where he had 24/7 surveillance by his more experienced Riders.

He saw two rapidly growing dots, red and green, and he felt both unease and happiness. Unease as to his last-ditch plan to stop the demonic menace, and happiness that he'd see his old friends in the flesh, or scales for some of them, for the first time in half a century.

" _Saphira, I'll need to direct them to the inner wall, can you fly me there?"_

" _Aye, partner-of-heart-and-mind, I will."_

Eragon climbed into her saddle, and with a grin, they took off.

"Hail, my old friends!" he called.

"Hail, Eragon and Saphira!" Arya and Murtagh both called, their dragons joining in to the greeting.

Eragon felt his ears burning as he surveyed Arya.

 _Not now, that can wait. Hell, I know hardly anything of the past fifty years in Alagaesia, she's probably found a mate,_ he irritatedly thought to himself.

"Right, I'm going to direct you to the last safe part of New Vroengard, the inner wall, which has the rooms of the Riders as well as my personal keep. There, we'll discuss plans on beating these demons."

They flew over the city, briefly peering at the massive stone structure with a tear in the fabric of the universe itself, glowing an ugly mix of black and purple, pouring out demons constantly, who were besieging the outer wall with ugly, _thorny_ catapults and ballistae.

"So how" asked Murtagh. "In the everloving _fuck_ do you plan to stop that?"

"Change of plans, we're going to go through the portal." stated Eragon.

" _WHAT!?"_ came the surprised shouts, mental and physical, of two Riders and three dragons. Eragon was mildly displeased that even Saphira was with them.

"Hear me out. Alright, so we defeated all of them at one point only for a thousand more to pour out, at another I obliterated the portal with the power of the Eldunari, but a new one appeared near instantly. They just _keep pouring out._ We're going to die for sure if we don't, and we'll probably die if we do, but I'd rather take probable death over absolute death."

Arya trusted Eragon, however she doubted that his idea would work. _Better than the alternative._ she thought.

"Fair enough. Let's go." said Arya.

The three Riders grinned fiercely as they prepared to fight for their lives for the first time in half a century, and they pulled out their swords as three dragons, blue, green, and red streaked towards the hole in reality.

Upon entering the tear in reality, Eragon was buffeted with a thousand visions in no more than a few seconds.

 _A man with white hair and glowing eyes cutting down a great bipedal stag-_

 _Men in deep trenches, blasting each other apart with long poles of wood and iron, as strange devices destroyed a small village and mechanical dragons soared overhead-_

 _A woman aged perhaps twenty obliterating a great keep with a black dragon-_

 _An old wizard fighting a fiery demon in old underground ruins-_

And so the three Riders and their dragons popped out into this new realm. It was hellish, as if someone had taken the normal world and _twisted_ it into a cruel parody of what it was. Every tree was dead and leafless, great, thorny spires of rock jutted out every several meters, and the sky was a horrible shade of grayish purple. There was constant thunder, and what seemed to be husks of long dead humans shambled past the Riders and dragons.

" _Eragon, this place smells wrong. A powerful, malicious presence permeates the air, I'd advise we get out of here as fast as possible._ " commented Saphira.

" _Aye, that's the plan._ " said Eragon, sending the thought to his partner of heart and mind.

 **NEW SOULS DARE TO ENTER MY REALM,** spoke a powerful voice. It had a very unnerving edge to it, one that made Eragon want to jump out of his skin.

 **YOU ARE NOT FROM TAMRIEL, HOWEVER I SHALL DESTROY YOU ALL THE SAME,** the voice continued.

"Please, help me! I just broke out of one of Molag Bal's cells, the daedra are going to kill me, you have to help me escape this hell! I don't know how to escape, but I know someone who does. Get these chains off and I'll lead you to him." came the panicked voice of a man.

A great, gnarled, black hand came crashing down, killing the man instantly.

 **I AM MOLAG BAL, DAEDRIC PRINCE OF DOMINATION. I WILL SPARE YOU THIS ONCE, AND SEND YOU TO TAMRIEL.**

"Why? Answer me, demon!" shouted Murtagh defiantly.

 **IT AMUSES ME. NOW GO, BEFORE I DESTROY YOU ON THE SPOT, PROFLIGATE.**

Another one of the massive portals appeared, and an invisible force threw the Riders and their dragons through.

The first thing Eragon saw was the ground, and his friends falling.

"LETTA!" he barked.

The spell began to take a toll on him.

 _Shit, shit, shit, the Eldunari are gone, I have to cut it off befo-_ and he passed into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

"Eragon, wake up, this isn't funny any more." spoke Murtagh.

It had been three days since they had fallen into this new land, and Eragon had remained unconscious.

"Damnit, his heart's beating, but his mind is blocked off by this sort of barrier that almost feels like the sort of charge that accumulates when you rub your hand on wool and then pick up a piece of parchment." said Murtagh, pacing around the campsite. They had been walking for days and they hadn't found any form of civilization, short of a dead patrol of some kind with what seemed to be lightning burns all over their bodies.

"Helzvog and Gûntera, I hope he wakes up soon" said Arya quietly, almost praying.

" _Please, if any gods are out there, wake man-elf-ebrithil up again."_ said Firnen, projecting his voice to everyone in the small camp they had set up.

"What the fu-" Hrolf said as he walked. He was on the path to Solitude, for he planned to join the Imperial Legion and reunite Skyrim. He saw three massive dragons, red, green, and blue. The blue one was the largest, though not by much. They seemed to be curiously docile, and had four legs instead of the two that the dragons of Skyrim had. There was a man with a dark red tunic, which as Hrolf walked closer, he noticed it was armored, as well as a woman with black hair and very light looking armor, black with green accents. On the ground, on a leather sleeping bag, laid an unconscious man in a dark blue tunic.

"Hail!" he shouted, hoping to draw their attention.

"Who are you?" the man in dark red armor shouted back.

"I am Hrolf Bjornsson, and I am the Dragonborn!"

He walked closer, hoping to have a proper conversation with them.

"Dragonborn? What? What's that?" asked the man in red armor, who he had learned was called Murtagh.

"How in Oblivion do you not know of the Dragonborn? Have you never read the tales and legends?"

"My apologies. We do not come from this land. We came from a land called Alagaesia, and some portal opened up and demons started pouring out and attacking the fortress of the Riders, so we went through it to see if we could stop it. We ended up in this horrible realm where everything was corrupted and twisted, like a cruel parody of the normal world. Then, a powerful voice calling itself Molag Bal banished us here. Eragon, the unconscious guy, tried to stop our fall with magic but ran out of energy and has been down for three days as of last count."

Hrolf glanced at the woman. She had pointed ears, and so was presumably an elf, but she did not have the golden skin of the Altmer, nor the body hair of a Bosmer, or the grey skin of a Dunmer.

"Who's she?" he asked.

"Arya. She was originally the elven ambassador during a large war in Alagaesia, but after her mother died she became a queen, but then that green egg hatched for her, she somehow managed to juggle being a Rider and the elven queen, then those damn demons invaded so she abdicated and now here we are."

"You keep mentioning these 'Riders' who are they?"

Arya took the opportunity to speak.

"Thousands of years ago, the elves and the dragons had a huge war. Blood and fire rained from the skies, constantly, until an elf called Eragon, or Eragon the First now, as he and the Eragon here are certainly not one and the same, found a baby dragon and raised it into adulthood. Eventually, the war stopped after the dragons and the elves made a magical pact that changed the nature of Alagaesia itself, which is how elves are now basically immortal so long as nothing kills us, as well as being far stronger, faster, and far more magically powerful than humans. However, many years after the creation of the Rider Pact as it would come to be known, the spell was changed to allow humans to become Riders, and they too will gradually obtain the same characteristics as an elf, with the immortality being something you attain the moment the egg hatches. Even _more_ recently, only about fifty years ago, the Eragon that's here changed the spell again to allow dwarf and Urgal riders. But to answer your original question, Riders are people who a dragon egg has hatched for. They have a close emotional bond with their dragons, and communicate via thought and emotion instead of physically saying the words. They obviously ride said dragons when they're large enough to do so."

"Talos, that's a lot of information. We have dragons here, except they have two legs, are dull colors, are hell-bent on world domination, and they're also ugly as hell, unlike these three."

Everybody in the camp got the mental equivalent of Saphira giving a smug grin pressed on their minds.

"Now, the dragons here also have their own language, in which most nouns can cause some sort of effect. Anyone not a dragon normally needs years of study to unlock said effect, but as the Dragonborn" he said, treading carefully as not to anger the three rather large dragons staring at him "I kill dragons and absorb their souls and basically directly absorb the meaning of the Words of Power directly into my soul."

"That's barbaric!" shouted Arya angrily.

"No, not Alagaesian dragons. The Tamrielic dragons are almost closer to gods, created by Akatosh himself. The Dragonborn, in other words me, is the only one that can truly kill a dragon, because any others will kill a dragon, but if the soul is not absorbed it can be resurrected, somehow. Each dragon has a name or in my case title, consisting of three words, and mine has two meanings. You can either say 'Dovah-Kiin', Dragonborn, or 'Dov-Ah-Kiin', Born Hunter of Dragons."

"Who's their leader?" asked Murtagh.

"Been trying to figure that out, part of the reason I'm going to Solitude to join the Imperial Legion. Maybe their funds can help me somehow."

"In that case, can we tag along? We'd like to see what this place has to offer, because I doubt we're getting back to Alagaesia any time soon." said Murtagh.

"Why not? I'll set up a tent in your campsite if that's all right by you."

"Sure. There is, however, one more matter that needs to be addressed, namely Eragon having been unconscious for days. We can't even touch his mind, it's almost fuzzy, like static electricity."

"I'll see what I can do." said Hrolf.

Rummaging through his bag, he found what he was looking for. A small, red vial containing a foul tasting concoction that could heal most wounds. He walked over to Eragon, unstoppered it, and poured it down his throat.

Ten minutes later, still nothing.

"Arya, his heart rate's slowing." said Murtagh.

"Someone do something, Helzvog, Guntera, Talos, someone!" she shouted, shaking.

"Wait, I have one more thing that _may_ work. If this doesn't work, our best bet will be to set course for the College of Winterhold" said Hrolf as he walked over Eragon. He forced the Rider's mouth open, and, summoning the ancient power of Kyne, he Shouted.

" **FUS!** "

The blue Rider's heart began to speed up, and his eyes flickered open.

"Well, he's awake. Ribs are probably cracked, considering that I used the draconic word for 'Force'"

The first thing Eragon noticed when he woke up was that Arya was in a state of near-prayer, which was strange. The second thing he noticed was that his chest hurt, a lot.

"Waise heill" he muttered, and winced as his ribs reassembled themselves.

Arya rushed over to him and nearly crushed him in a hug.

"Uh…" he wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"Never try something like that again." she said, and Eragon noticed something dripping down his shoulder.

 _Oh shit, she's crying. Helzvog help me how do I comfort her?_ he wondered, and settled for wrapping his arms around her in turn.

The third and final thing that he noticed that was out of the ordinary was a man with blond hair and armor made of steel and fur was sitting next to him.

"Who are you?" he asked, sitting up.

"Well, I'm the guy that just saved your life using ancient magic granted by the gods themselves, but you can call me Hrolf." said the man. Eragon suddenly noticed that the man's blue eyes had a nearly draconic spark of _hunger_ to them.

"Okay, _what?_ Gods don- wait… Molag Bal… they do exist in this world don't they."

"What's this? You had contact with _Molag Bal?_ "

"Apparently. Some voice calling itself that sent us here for its amusement when we decided to stop the demon invasion that was hitting New Vroengard by flying into the portal."

"Talos, I'm going to have to teach you of the gods some time, but the gist of it is: Molag Bal is a Daedra. Daedra are for the most part bad, but there are some neutral and good ones like Meridia and Azura. There's the Nine Divines, or the Aedra, which those damn Thalmor are trying to reduce to eight because Talos was a man that ascended into a god and they're pissy about it because they're elven supremacists. They don't interact with Tamriel as much as the Daedra but they are mostly if not entirely good. I'm supposedly the Dragonborn, with the body of a man and the soul of a dragon gifted by Akatosh which gives me the power to basically eat their souls and learn their language doing it, the blue dragon that I'm assuming is yours can tell you about the differences between Tamrielic and Alagaesian dragons."

"The 'blue dragon' as you so affectionately referred to her as is Saphira, and I'd advise you learn that before she eats you. You can talk to her if you know how, I'll teach you later. Anyhow, where are you going?"

"Solitude. I plan to join the Imperial Legion to maybe find out why these dragons are attacking."

"Imperial Legion? We fought an empire once, lead by a guy named Galbatorix, but that is a story for another time. I'm assuming this Legion isn't lead by some guy who rips into people's minds and finds their True Name and uses it to force obedience?"

"Uh, True Name? What's that? Anyways, no. They're an organized army, supposedly lead by Titus Mede II, though nobody really likes him, since he's the guy that signed the White-Gold Concordat, which banned worship of Talos but ended the Great War."

"You're going to have to explain the history of Skyrim to me sometime, but it's the evening and I'm hungry."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Apologies for the long wait, writer's block is a bitch. Also, most of the combat from now on will be written by one of my friends, as they are far better than I at writing combat.  
**

As the three Riders and the Dragonborn walked along the road to Solitude, they saw a group of men in crude maille with blue cloaks and a white bear emblazoned on their shields, walking towards them.

"Oi, you lot! This is Stormcloak territory! Pay a tribute if you want to live!" one of the men, presumably the leader, barked as he got closer.

"What will you take as tribute, my lords?" asked Hrolf with an incredibly sarcastic air about him.

"Oh, we'll take all your gold and…" he said with a slimy grin as he grabbed Arya's arm tightly. "The woman."

Pure, unadulterated rage rose up in Eragon.

"BRISINGR!" he shouted.

The leader of the group of Stormcloaks began screaming as a bright blue flame enveloped him, and the flesh and muscle melted off his skeleton.

The rest of the patrol pulled out an assortment of crude weaponry, laughing at how seemingly easy this was going to be, as they outnumbered the Riders and Dragonborn ten to one.

"Well, this leaves one option." said Hrolf, flexing his arms and chest.

He pulled out a large axe and began cutting down Stormcloaks with surprising speed, as Eragon, Arya, and Murtagh made short work of the rest of them.

Murtagh grabbed the last remaining Stormcloak by the neck of his armor and lifted him bodily with one hand.

"I want you to go back to wherever the rest of you _animals_ " he spat that word out. "live, and tell them this story. Know that _we are to be given free passage._ Unless you _want_ to be completely obliterated, which is entirely alright by me."

He threw him to the ground in disgust.

"Now GO."

The Stormcloak sprinted off, a terrified look on his face,

"So, Eragon, what's with that rather extreme defense of the lady? You two sneaking into the same tent together every night to 'keep each other warm' when I'm on watch? Eh?" asked Hrolf with a wink, continuing to walk.

Both Eragon and Arya went bright red.

"We're not…we don't..." he spluttered.

" _The way I catch you two looking at each other when you think the other isn't makes it evident that you're lying."_ said Saphira in amusement.

"Talos, even I noticed it, and it seems the great dragoness agrees."

" _You've been at this for FIFTY YEARS. Entire generations have lived and died while you two couldn't decide whether or not you wanted to rut in a cave somewhere."_ commented Thorn.

"Besides, I don't even need Saphira's affirmation. The fact that both of you turned redder than the autumn leaves proves it enough." said Hrolf, digging the barb even deeper.

Eragon looked around helplessly.

"Firnen, we're friends, right? You'll get me out of this."

" _No, this is incredibly amusing."_ said the green dragon smugly.

A group of yellow skinned elves in fine armor escorting a prisoner appeared over the hill.

"Oh hey, literally anything else! Let's pay attention to it!" shouted Eragon, still bright red.

"Well, Akatosh guide me. Those are the type of elf I originally thought you were. Fucking Thalmor." said Hrolf. "And I bet that prisoner is guilty of no crime but worshipping Talos."

"So what's the plan?" asked Murtagh.

"Kill the damn elves, free the prisoner."

They had only walked a quarter of a kilometer since the Stormcloaks and they were already facing a new, seemingly enemy patrol.

"Oi, you skeever-fucking bilgerats!" shouted Hrolf at the Thalmor.

"Clearly, I deal with my enemies with the grace and class of a Jarl." he joked.

"We are Thalmor Justiciars and we do not like your tone. Now MOVE ALONG, or we shall be forced to destroy you."

"Oh for Talos' sa-" Hrolf started. "You know what? Fuck introductions. FUS!"

The Thalmor were knocked back, and they quickly began picking themselves up. Some pulled out swords made of the same material as their armor, however most used a spell to summon a strange shimmering sword that glowed purple and blue.

"Hrolf, what the hell are those!?" Eragon shouted.

"Bound weapons, I'll explain later!" came the reply.

The elves were far faster than the Stormcloaks, however still nowhere close to what the Riders were capable of. The real problem, however, was not their speed, but their armor and the way the glowing swords seemed to cut through the Rider's wards as if they weren't even there.

By the time the Riders had drawn their weapons and fanned out to fight, they had already suffered a few minor cuts. The Thalmor, clearly getting cocky, pressed the assault. However, the Riders struck back, and they struck back hard. Even though it was eighteen against four, the Thalmor were hard pressed to keep the blows away from themselves, let alone strike back. Hrolf took the first kill by rolling under a glowing blade and swinging hard at the elf's spine, thus numbering his opponents at five. As the Thalmor crumpled, Hrolf parried another blow, continuing the fatal dance. Meanwhile, across the road, Arya and Eragon were back to back, surrounded by eight of the Thalmor. In one motion they dashed forwards, crashing into the elves and breaking their line. Eragon cried, "Brisingr" as he leapt into the fray. The Thalmor nearest to him crumpled to the ground screaming as blue flames engulfed him, and Eragon found himself standing before two of the elves. One gripped a glowing blue sword, while the other's hands held balls of flame. Knowing his wards would protect him from the fire, he charged at the other elf. Forgetting his wards didn't stop the glowing swords, Eragon didn't bother blocking, favouring a full strength attack. His opponent fell with an open throat, but Eragon suffered a painful slice across his chest. He felt a blast of heat across his back, and whirled to see the spellcaster shooting a jet of flame out of one hand. He wondered why the other hand was held closer to the mage's chest, curled up tightly, but he charged regardless. Before he got within range the closed hand burst forward, launching a ball of flame at his chest. The combination of both sources of heat broke his ward, launching him backwards. Luckily, the wards failure seemed to have pushed back the flames briefly, as he wasn't burned. He sprinted forwards again, sliding diagonally past the mage at the last second before he hit the flames. He slashed at the elf's knees, slicing through tendon and muscle, causing his opponent to collapse. As he rose and plunged his blade into the elf's chest he heard a cry, immediately recognizing it as Arya. He whirled in the direction the scream came from in a panic, fearing any harm would come to Arya. Hrolf had finished off his enemies, leaving both him and his axe bloody. Murtagh has dispatched the four that had attacked him, having discovered in the process that even armour as tough as the Thalmor's could be broken by a blade such as Zar'roc. The two of them also turned at the scream, seeing Arya on the ground, a widening pool of blood around her. Eragon roared with rage, charging forwards. Two elves were down before they could react, one with his head rolling away from him. Murtagh and Hrolf rushed in, taking on the remaining three while Eragon rushed to Arya, checking her wounds. Within a minute, the Thalmor were dead, and three figures crouched in a spreading pool of blood.

"WAISE HEILL!" Eragon shouted, completely oblivious to the world around him.

Strangely, nothing happened.

"What the hell? I've gotten men from the brink of death before, this should work!" he angrily muttered.

"Before she dies of blood loss, I should probably mention that bound weapons are Daedra from Oblivion bound into the form of a weapon. I doubt your Alagaesian magic will heal it. Needle and thread or blessings from the Divines are the only thing likely to heal it, and we don't have a lot of time, so I'd advise stitching her up." said Hrolf.

"Right. Needle, thread, now!" said Eragon.

Hrolf pulled a first aid kit off his belt, and removing a needle and a small bundle of thread, tossed it to Eragon.

Eragon caught it, hands still shaking, and muttered a spell to heat up the needle to disinfect it. Threading the needle, he removed Arya's light scaled cuirass and leather tunic and saw the nasty cut stretching from just beside her lower abdominal muscles to just under the lowermost rib. Noting how pale she had gotten from the blood loss, he pushed the still-hot needle through, eliciting a short cry of pain from Arya. Quickly, not wanting to cause undue pain, he stitched two opposing layers of thread, creating a pattern of small X shapes across the cut.

"She should be alright for a while. I'm going to keep watch over her until she's healed up. Hrolf, Murtagh, you're on watch for the night."

Hrolf mentally noted how good Eragon was at taking control of a situation.

"It was easier to have four watches of two hours, but I suppose two of four will do. I guess you have to take care of your lo- of Arya" Hrolf said, snorting at the last part.

"She'll get through this. I have personally killed a Shade with her, a cut, even one major as this won't bring her down." Eragon replied.

Eragon laid Arya down on her leather sleeping bag and set off towards the nearby forest. Finding a small tree, he sliced through the trunk with Brisingr and pulled out a knife and began carving several square poles, two long and two short. He walked back to the camp, and when he got there, he carved notches into the two long poles and set the short poles inside them. Out of his pack he pulled a sheet of linen, which he lashed to the frame he had built.

"What's that?" asked Hrolf.

"A stretcher. It's significantly easier to carry people this way." replied Eragon.

"Ah. By my map we're about an hour off from Dragon Bridge, a small town leading over a large ravine, about six hours' walk from Solitude. Can't miss it, considering there's a bridge with a huge dragon head sitting on top of one of the arches going across the ravine. Considering that dusk begins to fall, I say we get to Dragon Bridge, sleep in warm beds, and head for Solitude tomorrow."

"And we'll make it to Solitude by what, early afternoon?"

"Aye, that's the plan."

Eragon lifted Arya onto the stretcher.

"Murtagh, lift the back of the stretcher, I'll lift the front. Saphira, Firnen, and Thorn, you're hiding until we can get word out that you are not to be harmed" said Eragon.

"Aye." grunted Murtagh.

A faint sense of disapproval emanated from all three dragons at having to hide.

And so, the Riders, Dragonborn, and dragons left for Dragon Bridge, pausing once to loot the bodies of the Thalmor.


	6. Chapter 6

Arya woke up and was surprised to see that her armor had been removed, leaving only her tunic, and that she was being carried in an improvised stretcher by Eragon and Murtagh. She tried to recall what had happened causing her to be in such a state. She felt a sudden, burning pain on her stomach. Looking down and lifting up the edge of the tunic, she saw a large cut going from her lowermost abdominal muscle to her lowermost rib with a pattern of small X shapes across it.

 _Ah, that's right. We were fighting those bloody Thalmor, and one of those damned shimmering swords passed straight through my wards. Heard Eragon in a bloodthirsty rage and then I must have passed out from the blood loss._ she thought. _The real question is, why was I stitched up instead of healed normally?_

"Eragon?" she questioned.

"You're awake. It's been close to an hour since you went out." he replied.

"Not the answer I wanted now, but I was going to ask that shortly. What I wanted to ask was, why did you stitch the wound instead of healing it normally?"

She couldn't see much from the stretcher, though she thought she saw the powerful cords that defined his upper body tense for half a second.

"Those bloody Altmer used swords that apparently nullify the effects of any Alagaesian magic on the wounds. Remember those hellspawn back from when that damn portal opened? They're not entirely corporeal, unless they're summoned in such a form as a creature from what I can tell. They're essentially binding the damned things into the form of an infinitely sharp sword that cuts through wards like paper. _Apparently_ , the only way to properly heal one of the wounds caused by them requires divine providence."

"And where would we find this so called divine providence?" she asked, still suspicious of the existence of the Divines. In fairness, so was Eragon, though there seemed to be more evidence of their existence falling into place for him.

"Solitude, at the Temple of the Divines. We're still a little over six hours from there, but since it's getting dark, we're going to rest up at Dragon Bridge for the night. Stay at the inn, sleep in a proper bed for once in… about two weeks in my case." replied Hrolf.

"I'll stay in this damn stretcher until we get into Dragon Bridge, then I'm walking." Arya said.

"No, you're not." Eragon replied.

"Eragon, I'm not like human women. I can handle a little pain."

"The major problem here is, what if we run into a Stormcloak camp or another Thalmor patrol on the way to Solitude? No way will you be able to fight in that state." replied Eragon.

"Yes, I will be." she said, determined.

Seemingly trying to prove that she could fight, Arya hopped off the stretcher. As she put weight on the cut, the pain went from dull and throbbing to a searing pain that was bad enough that she blacked out for a split second.

Eragon caught her as she fell, and slung her over his shoulders.

"Eragon, you don't need to-" she started, half indignantly.

"Let it happen elf, you can't even stand straight." said Hrolf.

"Fine." she said, giving in and settling on to Eragon's shoulders.

They saw a massive stone bridge with an arch with a great stone dragon's head on it, covering a ravine, probably a hundred meters long and perhaps twenty meters wide.

"Well, there it is. A place to sleep, finally." said Hrolf.

They walked across the bridge, and were stopped by an Imperial soldier halfway across.

"Oi, you lot! I need to see credentials before I allow you into Haafingar hold!" he ordered.

"Oh, right. I'm the Thane of Whiterun, here's my badge of office to prove it." Hrolf said as he pulled a dagger with Jarl Balgruuf's seal engraved in the pommel from his belt and handed it to the soldier.

"Looks legitimate. And the rest of you?"

"They're hired muscle to keep me safe. Roads are dangerous with the Stormcloaks about." he lied.

"And the woman?"

"She's my personal housecarl, she was injured when a bandit struck her across the stomach." he said, continuing to lie, but seasoning the lie with a bit of truth as not to arouse suspicion.

"Very well, here's your dagger and a letter officially granting free movement in and out of Haafingar for the next three weeks for the rest of you."

"Hired muscle and personal housecarl, hah, well done." Eragon said once they were out of earshot of the soldier.

"Aye. Best we get to the inn, night falls quickly upon us."

Dragon Bridge was a relatively small, though very busy town. Traders peddling various trinkets, a blacksmith advertising the quality of his steel, partially naked women walking through the streets to show off the various extra services the local inn offered, a small child waving a sign trying to send people to the apothecary for cure-alls and things of that nature.

Despite all of this, there seemed to be an aura of trepidation around the town, and Arya suddenly realized that this was due to the fact that the bridge was likely extremely strategically important. She, from her admittedly limited field of vision slung over Eragon's shoulders, saw no bridges for kilometers out. If the Stormcloaks or Imperials decided to destroy the bridge, that would essentially cut Haafingar off from the rest of Skyrim completely, unless you wanted to brave the wilderness to try to find some way past the ravine out there, and even that would likely only support one or two people at most, not an army or even a trade caravan.

The group trudged into the inn.

Hrolf went to speak to the innkeep.

"Hello ma'am, I'd like four rooms for the night if you can spare." he said.

"We're short on space. I can give you three at best, one of which has a double bed." she said.

"Right, how many septims?" he asked.

"Sixty, plus five for taking up a quarter of my damn space. If you want a woman to warm your bed, that's another twenty per." she replied.

"Gonna decline the offer of women, but here's your gold." He tossed a decent sized sack of coins to her.

"Right, you, Arya, take the room with the double bed." he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Murtagh and I will take the other two rooms."

As they walked up the stairs to their rooms, Eragon told her that he would take the floor and she was taking the bed.

"Nonsense, Eragon. I can handle sleeping on the floor for a night."

"No. You haven't slept in a proper bed since you left Ellesmera, all the while I was sleeping in a bed fit for a bloody king at New Vroengard."

"Well, we could…" she went beet red. "Sleep...in...the...same...bed?" she asked, seeming to strain with every word.

Eragon's eyes widened.

"What? Why? I can sleep on the floor, it's alrigh-"

"From the map I saw Hrolf had, we're relatively far north and this inn is drafty, and these blankets aren't particularly thick. That, and, well, it's a double bed." she said.

"Alright." he acquiesced.

As they slipped under the covers, Arya pulled one of Eragon's arms over her, however only Arya began to sleep.

About half an hour later, the elf woke, apparently wondering why Eragon wasn't asleep.

"Eragon? Why do you not sleep?" she asked quietly.

"It is because...well, today with the Stormcloaks and the Thalmor awoke a part of me that I thought, I _hoped_ was gone. When I close my eyes, I see those tens of thousands of men I killed so many years ago, and now new faces join them, all tormenting me with a single question. _Why?_ " he replied.

"Eragon, you are one of the strongest men I know; you've been through things that would break most men tenfold and come out fighting. Anything like that will leave some scars, physical and otherwise." she said.

And with that, she laid her head on Eragon's chest and squeezed him tightly, and the two Riders fell into a peaceful sleep, unhindered by the demons of wars long passed.

 **~~~8 HOURS LATER~~~**

"HA! HAHAHAHA! KNEW IT!" came a booming voice from the doorway.

Eragon's eyes opened, and the first thing he saw after he wiped away the bleariness was a huge, golden haired Nord laughing at somethi-oh. He realized his arms were wrapped around Arya's thin form, curled up against him with her knees to her chest.

Arya woke up.

"Damn, that cut's starting to hurt again." she said.

"What, do you want Eragon to kiss it better?" Hrolf asked before bursting into another fit of laughter.

"Helzvog and Guntera, this is going to be the subject of a lot of quips throughout the day, isn't it." said Eragon.

"Day? Try month." replied Hrolf, with a massive grin on his face. "Anyways, there's bacon, eggs, and fruit downstairs if you want to eat something before we leave for Solitude." he said, leaving the room.

"Arya, can I see that cut? I have to see how bad it is."

"Do you _really_ want to see the cut, or do you just want me to take off my tunic?" she asked with a slight grin.

"Ah...well, I'm not going to _deny_ wanting to see your tunic off, but that cut is more important right now."

She gave him a slightly pained smile.

Arya removed her tunic, exposing the cut. Despite the stitching, it had become nasty and infected, causing Eragon to give a short gasp in shock.

"I'm going to have to cut away the infection. This will be painful." Eragon said.

"Hand me something to bite down on then." she said in a tone that indicated she just wanted it over with.

"Uh...right." He removed Brisingr from it's scabbard and unclipped the scabbard from his belt. "Here, this should work."

"Thank you."

As she bit down on the scabbard, Eragon pulled out his knife and slashed away the stitching. He began to work on cutting out the necrotized and gangrenous flesh as pus dripped down the blade of his knife, causing Arya to emit screams of pain through the scabbard of Brisingr. After he was finished cutting away the rot, he saw the dark red muscle overlaid by a thin layer of fat.

He walked across the room and found his rucksack, and searched through it for a metal canteen holding water. He then walked back over to Arya and poured it into the wound, cleaning any dirt that may have been there. Blood spurted out, and Arya once again bit down on the scabbard and screamed. Finally, he stitched the wound back together with clean thread.

She removed the scabbard from her mouth and handed it to Eragon, who wiped it off on the blanket of the inn's bed.

"Bloody hell that hurt, though now it's more of a dull pain that I should be able to handle now."

"Oh, and Arya?"

"Yes?"

"Before I forget, thank you. For helping me last night." he said.

She stood up and hugged him tightly.

"Best we get breakfast." she said, her face slightly pink.

"Aye." replied Eragon.

They walked down the stairs, Arya with a slight limp, to Hrolf and Murtagh each sitting over a pile of bacon and eggs.

"You two are finally awake." he said with a grin.

"Yes, we are." Eragon said dryly.

"Innkeep! Fruit for these two!" called Hrolf.

The innkeeper brought over bowls containing several different kinds of berries as well as an apple for each of them.

After they had finished, Hrolf tossed the innkeeper a sack of coins. The Riders and Dragonborn went to their respective rooms to grab their bags, and left for Solitude.


End file.
